Free Wrath of the Grinning Ghost by John Bellairs

professor. "Tell us about it!"
    "Later," said the voice, becoming fainter. "Communicating with you now is difficult. Later, I promise. But I have to warn you—you are both in terrible, terrible danger!"
    And then the voice was gone completely. Johnny and Professor Childermass stared at each other. Neither of them spoke.
    There was nothing to say.
     
     

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    A few days later Johnny, Fergie, and the professor stepped off an airplane into the humid heat of a Florida afternoon. Johnny blinked in the bright sun. Although the month was only late June, the day was hotter than the hottest August day he could ever remember. "Whoo-oo-oosh!" said Fergie, taking off his Red Sox baseball cap and fanning himself with it. His curly black hair stuck to his skull in gleaming rings. "Talk about an oven! No wonder you were so red when you got back from Florida, John baby. You can get charcoal-broiled just by walkin' around outside!"
    "We are not here to discuss the weather, Byron. Come along with me, gentlemen," said Professor Childermass brusquely, pushing open a glass door and bustling into the airport building. "The car-rental agency is supposed to have a nice sedan all ready for us. I, for one, want to get to the island before nightfall!"
    "Yeah, sure," said Fergie, lugging his suitcase through the door. "Maybe we can find this Madam Whoozis in a hurry and then get back to a cooler climate. Man, I can't believe how hot it is! This is like living in a steam bath!"
    Johnny didn't say much. He was still far too worried about his dad and his grandparents. Major Dixon had been successfully moved to the Duston Heights hospital, where Professor Childermass had given strict orders that the Dixons' family physician, Doctor Carl Schermerhorn—whom he considered a quack—was not to treat the patient. A younger, very serious specialist named Nesheim took the case instead, although he was just as puzzled as the doctors in Colorado had been.
    Johnny had last seen his father the previous afternoon, when Gramma and Grampa Dixon had stood helplessly beside their son's bed. Gramma was crying and holding on to the major's limp hand, while Grampa stood quietly with tears rolling down his loose, leathery cheeks. Major Dixon lay as still as death and did not seem to know they were there.
    After leaving the hospital, Johnny had spent a half hour at St. Michael's Church, lighting a candle for his dad and kneeling to say prayers for him. He had hoped to talk to Father Higgins, but the priest was away at a conference.
    Adding to Johnny's worries was the fact that, despite Brewster's promise, the spirit had not spoken to him again. Johnny wore the thunderbird amulet around his neck all day, and at night he kept it close beside his bed. Still, he had not heard another peep from Brewster. Johnny felt as if he were spending his life on pins and needles. Brewster had warned them, but what was it that he warned them about? When a kid had the kind of imagination Johnny did, he could dream up all sorts of dire disasters. Not knowing what the warning was supposed to be about was far more frightening than anything Brewster could have told him. Johnny lost his appetite and a lot of sleep, and sometimes he feared that he was losing his mind.
    At the car-rental desk the clerk handed the professor the keys, and he led the boys outside to a year-old black Pontiac, an automobile the professor said he understood very well.
    They stowed their suitcases in the trunk. Then, in a cloud of exhaust smoke, they set off, driving south on a two-lane asphalt highway lined with palm trees. It was so hot that mirages formed on the road ahead of the car, wavery sky-blue patches that shimmered and danced and looked just like shallow pools of water. They magically evaporated as the car sped toward them, without leaving a trace behind. Johnny and Fergie shared the backseat, with both of their windows rolled down so a blast of air washed over them. It was so muggy that